


the red in my ledger

by emmelinecarrow



Series: who we are vol. 1 (marvel character studies) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmelinecarrow/pseuds/emmelinecarrow
Summary: There were days, more than most, when the title Avenger did not sit with her. Avenger was a word for a time displaced super soldier, a man in a metal suit, a green big friendly giant, a God, an archer, not a lost assassin, not a broken agent, not a Russian monster.She had fought by the sides of all of those, with all of those, as one of those. She was unfazed in front of the senate. She was the Black Widow. And the Black Widow would not be defeated.a Natasha Romanoff character study





	the red in my ledger

Natalia Alianova "Natasha" Romanova, Avenger on the run. She was not always like that.

Young Natalia was one, maybe two, three tops when she arrived at the Red Room. Someone, she did not remember who, had plucked her from her old, most possibly normal, life, and dropped her into the one of spies and secret agencies.

The Red Room was not a fun place to grow up in. When children learnt how to read and write, they leant how to code and decode messages. When children learnt ballet and music for the sake of having a talent, they learnt ballet for discipline and music for seduction.

At seven, she had seen a senior killing one of her own with her bare hands, in cold blood, all because she got outshined, _once_. Small, naïve Natalia was determined, there and then, she would never be outshined by others.

At eleven, she came back from her first mission, the youngest to ever go on one, with red that reeked of iron staining her unassuming yellow floral dress, with hands covered by the first blood spilled by those innocent palms.

At sixteen, a taller, but still as small, Natalia lost her Russian accent (it reminded her too much of home, whatever home was), to obtain highly classified files, that she never really found out what it contained.

When she hit twenty, she had killed more than anyone in her level, buguiled more than all her superiors combined, and lost more than she thought she owned.

Natalia Alianova Romanova had been the best of the Red Room, better than any other the Room had ever seen. So when she lost a duel to one of the lesser girls, they knew she was faking it.

They forced her to go under the knife anyway.

Natalia was older when she met Clint Barton. She was on another routine mission, to stalk, seduce, sedate an influential man. This guy was an oil tycoon, and his resources and contacts were very useful to the higher-ups.

After she was done with her job, she left the building. And heard the distinct *click* of a sniper. Natalia knew better than to turn behind, so she stalked around the building. On the roof of a building was a man, who, after a quick mental evaluation, was about a decade older than she was.

"Was wondering when you were going to appear."

He turned around, a cocky smile on his face. Her pistol was pointed right at his face. Natalia stared, unwavering.

"You know, the least you could do is lower that damned thing. After all, I just saved your life."

That smile again, like the world was his to claim. She resisted the temptation to say something, to wipe that grin off his face. She succeeded, save for a perfectly raised eyebrow.

"Higher-ups ordered me to locate and kill. You're _still_ standing. Don't that require thanking?"

At last, Natalia allowed a response. "I am expected to be grateful?" Her laugh resounded around the quiet, black night. Hearing a soft, muffled sound, she regained composure. Within a second, she had that guy pinned under her.

"What was that?"

He flipped her around (he was well trained, that much Natalia would give him), "Perhaps you should ask who am I. Barton, Clint Barton. They call me the Hawkeye."

She pushed him off her and made for the edge of the roof, but was too distracted by his name.

The last thing she felt was a bullet penetrating her skin. The last thing she heard was, "And you are Natalia Alianova Romanova. They call you the Black Widow."

She woke up in a dark bunk. On a plane (she heard the loud engines that woke her up). Still groggy, she turned, and saw the archer looming over her.

Fast forward a couple of days, and Natalie was seated in front of a small table in the bunk they allocated her. On the metal table was a form. If she filled in her particulars and signed an oath, she would be an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Was that what she wanted?

That must be, for carefully, methodically, she allowed the standard issue blue ballpoint pen to fly across the paper, her wrist manipulating the thin blue plastic casing with ease. She filled in the form quickly enough, but there was a blank. Her name.

 _Natalia Alianova Romanova_.

No. That _was_ her name.

When she handed in the form to the waiting agent, it had the words 'Natasha Romanoff' written clearly, plainly, at the top of it.

Flash forward a couple of years and Natasha Romanoff had become one of the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever seen. Better enough than the rest of them to be sent to Stark Industry.

Pepper Potts was more observant than the namesake of the company. Sharp eyed, and keen, she pinned Natasha as potential trouble earlier on. She was admirable, for her capabilites and competence. Her ex-boss, on the other hand, not so much.

She deceived him, the same precise way she had a dozen before him. The only difference? He had a suit of metal that could protect, protect him, protect others. Tony Stark was as obnoxious, arrogant, annoying, as they could come. She put up with it, the same precise way she had a dozen before him.

His reaction was almost the same as when the others realized pretty, little Natalie was not actually Natalie Rushman. The problem was, they ended up on the same team, the Avengers.

Being an Avenger was not half bad. It was all fun and games until Barton got his mind unmade ("You know what it feels like to be unmade?" "You know I do."), until she faced monsters head first, until the Chitauri attacked, until gods descended upon them, until, until...

She went back, briefly, to Agent status. By then, it came as something of a relief. She was assigned to work with the infamous Captain, but was pulled aside by Fury after the end of the meeting. Knowing Rogers, he would not be particularly happy about it. But an order was an order, right?

Natasha had had allowed a tear or two to fall when Hill brought them to see Fury. She did not know what for, but she guessed someone had to mourn the eye patch. And she had been close, this close to livid when the deceiving director had had his heartbeat restored. She had not been this livid since the death of Coulson.

There were days, more than most, when the title Avenger did not sit with her. _Avenger_  was a word for a time displaced super soldier, a man in a metal suit, a green big friendly giant, a God, an archer, not a lost assassin, not a broken agent, not a Russian monster.

She had fought by the sides of all of those, with all of those, as one of those. She was unfazed in front of the senate. She was the Black Widow. And the Black Widow would not be defeated.

Natasha stayed under the radar. Everything S.H.I.E.L.D ever had on her was out in the open. And when people realize that one of the Avengers used to be KGB? Let us just say that it would not go down well.

Just because she was not longer part of it did not mean that she had no more ears. Carter got a gig with CIA; Hill was working for Stark; May had the thing with her team going (she should know, she called); Coulson was still dead; Thor was back on Asgard; little Natasha was under the radar.

Their first raid felt something like a reunion, a homecoming. The last one felt like a goodbye, a graduation.

The first time Natasha used the lullaby, it felt like a miracle. The Hulk was one of the things, amongst others, that she was truly terrified of. Well, at first, at least. The Winter Soldier was another story for another day.

"Love is for children."

And that was true, mostly. Clint Barton saved her life, and she owed him. But he became more. He became family.

"I adore you."

And that was true, too. Bruce Banner _understood_  her, understood what it was like to _feel_  like a monster, understood what it was like to _be_  a monster, understood what it was like to be out of control, understood what it was like to be suppressed. He did not try to _fix_  her, no. He let her fix herself, to heal at her own pace, to pick up her pieces and rebuild her own mind and soul. And that was why she adored him. And that was why her heart broke.

Steve Rogers tried to inculcate his values in her. Clint Barton tried to understand her. They were family, but they still were not able to fathom her thoughts, her feelings, her mind.

"Would you trust me to do it?"

Perhaps the most telling of all questions, and she chose to ask the Captain America. Precisely because of this trust, she let them escape; her friend and her greatest fear.

The Avengers were scewed up. A ragtag bunch of supposed superheroes. Did that not sound familiar? Natasha found somewhere she belonged, and it all got blewn up, because of a stupid robot. No, she did not blame Stark and Banner. The corrupted system they call a society, a governance was to blame.

She may spend a lifetime doing it, but Natasha would clean it.

The red in my ledger.


End file.
